


Nothing but a Rope and a Room Key

by LeftAss



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Doggy Style, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Reader-Insert, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Yes this is f!reader do not give me shit for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftAss/pseuds/LeftAss
Summary: You and Strike Commander Morrison fight often.You blow off steam together in secret just as often.This time gets to you.
Relationships: Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of two parts! I realized what I wanted as a scene break actually worked well as a chap break (so chap 2 will be up shortly). Again, this is Jack x F!Reader so please, heed the warnings and if you don't want to read it, then don't. But for any of you who've been looking for such content, enjoy the gift <3

You studied the dispositions of the other officers around you. Everyone seemed restless; some had coffee, and some had meals placed in front of them. The light felt like it left the sky days ago.

Your watch told you this meeting was approaching the hour of 1900 hours, and you briefly considered asking one of your table buddies to shoot you clean through the heart.

No one knew the reason the Strike Commander held this meeting so late – he could have just as easily planned this during the day when everyone had the slightest bit of life left inside them. Morrison didn’t seem to notice or care, trailing along with his monologue while gesturing at the large holo-screen that splayed across the entire wall of the conference room. You lost track of where his spiel was not; last you paid attention, he was harping on a pair of captains for deliberately ignoring his commands, no matter how much sense it made for them to do so. He already struck down three separate requests to break for dinner, even as a recess in the meeting.

A power-hungry monster. That’s all Morrison was, to you. The media gobbled up his sunshine personality and charm, and they positively died over his looks. You described him as being the perfect Aryan wet dream.

This meeting would have been so much more livable with Gabriel at your side, you thought. You were his acting second-in-command, placed in this dull, braincell-killing meeting because your beloved boss was “conveniently” on a surveillance mission halfway across the world. Bastard. Under normal circumstances, Commander Reyes would grant you permission to skip out on the meeting, but you had no possible outs this time. You considered putting money on the fact that Gabriel specifically chose these dates for his mission so he wouldn’t have to sit in on the shitshow.

Every time Morrison opened his mouth or made eye contact with everyone in his captive audience, you would grimace and clench your jaw. You had a loose policy with those you “liked” and “hated,” but something about the “perfect” little Strike Commander tripped all your triggers, and you felt an undeniable burning rage toward him. All you wanted was to stomp up to his position at the head of the table and punch him so he would just _stop. fucking. talking._

Your expression must have given your discontent away, because Morrison’s attention was you on an instant, which was followed by that of everyone else surrounding the table.

“Is there something you would like to share with us?” He crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to appear powerful and stern, as if you had inconvenienced him any more than he had inconvenienced the dozen or so of all of you who had to listen to him blather on about nothing for hours.

“There actually is, Strike Commander, thank you for the speaking permissions.” You folded your hands and leaned forward. “Are we going to resolve this tonight so we can go home, or do you just like hearing yourself speak that much, sir?”

His eyes narrowed at you.

The rest of the officers at the table froze and remained silent.

It was a bold move to talk back to the Strike Commander, even with as secure of a position as yours. Morrison knew that he would have to murder Gabriel in cold blood and possibly violate the Geneva Conventions and dozens of other international war laws before he could terminate your position, but it was never safe to sass him.

One of the captains on the Overwatch side whom you were friends with gave you pleading eyes, silently begging you to shut up so you wouldn’t further ruin everyone’s nights just because you had beef with the man in charge.

“Do you have anything else you would like to add, Lieutenant?”

“Nope,” you gave an exaggerated “pop” to the word, “I got my word in.” You crossed your arms behind your head and leaned back in your chair, smirking at the man.

You could tell you shook his focus and riled him up. If he was going to make your night a living hell, you mas as well make it fun, right?

Morrison took a few short moments to collect his thoughts, then addressed the room. You could read him like a book, and you knew he was tied up in an internal conflict of whether to keep egging you on to humiliate you in front of your peers or to be respectful and professional and end the altercation right then and there.

“Alright. Meeting adjourned. We _will_ be returning to this, bright and early at 0500 tomorrow morning – I don’t care if you have meetings, sleep, training. Your asses will be in these seats at 0500 sharp and not a single fucking second later or you will find yourself without a job.” He slowly turned to you, eyes primed to kill if they could. “I will be speaking with you after this meeting, Lieutenant.”

Sure, if he could catch you.

Lieutenant Wilhelm, of the Overwatch side, approached Morrison as the others started to clear the room. Wilhelm was never one for conflict and bad blood, so you assumed he was approaching the Strike Commander to help calm him down and suggest alternate courses of action to make the whole ordeal much less painful for everyone involved. Poor naïve Wilhelm gave you the perfect excuse to slip out of the room, though, so you silently told any deity listening that you owed your life to him and that they should tell him that.

As you closed the door, Morrison looked over, eyes landing on you and making contact with yours. You quickly pretended you didn’t notice him spying you and increased your speed as you strode down the hall. If Wilhelm kept him busy long enough, you could get enough of a head start that guaranteed he couldn’t catch up to you before you holed up in one of your many private spaces on base that he seemed to not know about.

You rounded one of the final corners that led you to a small break room you planned to wait out in, not even looking in front of you in assumption that everyone else was actually _enjoying_ their Friday night and not hiding from the Strike Commander of Overwatch and his wrath.

As a result of your carelessness, you slammed into a body and froze from the interception. You noticed the shoes first, and your heart dropped to yours. You slowly scanned the figure in front of you, following the draping of the obnoxious blue armored overcoat up until you reached the eyepiece he wore that matched his equally intense blue eyes. You felt the familiar experience of the man towering over you.

The next thing you felt was Morrison gripping your arm and pivoting you around as he pulled you into the nearest supply closet. You opened your mouth to lash out at him, but he swiftly covered it with his free hand.

His voice was low and forceful in your ear. “Now, sweetheart, is there really any reason you needed to pull that back there?” He slowly drew his hand back from your mouth. That was a mistake.

You turned to confront him. “You know damn well why. You kept everyone there far past active office hours on a fucking Friday for business that was far from urgent.” You leaned back against the sealed door, crossing your arms in front of you casually. “And I was getting tired of hearing your stupid voice.”

He stepped closer, dominating your personal space.

“That’s not what you usually tell me, sweetheart.” He braced an arm above you and leaned in, mere inches from your face.

“I am not in the fucking mood for your sweet-talking, asshole.”

Morrison brought his hand up to caress your jawline with a sweetness that was the polar opposite of the hungry look in his eyes. “What,” he began, “are you going to hit me? Spit on me?” He smirked. “…Tell me you secretly love me?”

“In your fucking dreams, Morrison.” You grasped his wrist and twisted, trying to maneuver his arm off of you as you ducked away.

Morrison responded by playing your own trick back on you. He soon had both of your wrists pinned behind your back with one hand as he turned you back around and shoved you back up against the door of the closet.

He leaned in even closer this time.

“What exactly is your problem with me, sweetheart? I would love to know why you seem to despise my existence so much.” His eyes were intense and daring. You took the bait.

“Okay. One, you’re selfish. Two, you don’t know when to fucking back down. And three,” you leaned up to force yourself into his space like he was doing to you, “I think you keep us in these meetings because you’re secretly some sadist that has to have so much control you’ll do _anything_ for it.” You didn’t back down.

It seemed like an eternity passed after your statement. Morrison’s eyes stayed locked with yours, and he had an increasingly feral energy. You could feel the tension in the room, and you knew it was bound to snap any second. And it was going to be disastrous. But you weren’t afraid.

He pushed into the remnants of your personal space and shoved you back up against the door as his mouth was on yours, frantic. You returned his motions, just as desperate. One hand on your jaw, pulling you in, the other firm on your hip, strong enough to bruise through the dress you wore under your blazer. You and Morrison exchanged quick, sharp nips to each other’s lips as you seemed to fight through your movements rather than words. Your arms reached up so you could tangle your fingers in his hair. You pulled, quickly and hard, earning a low grown from him and a strong squeeze to your waist.

Your altercations with the Strike Commander were old hat. You used each other to blow off steam, which happened far often than you thought it would when you first started your trysts with him. You would come to each other after bad missions or meetings, and it was like a little game for you to rile each other up as much as possible.

The unspoken rule you had was to be as mean as possible. It wasn’t as fun if you both weren’t as angry at each other as you could be.

Sure, it was probably extremely unhealthy and went against every kind of feminist rhetoric you could possibly think of, but it was the most effective outlet for stress and anger you’d found. Every week at the very least, you and Morrison would find yourselves rolled up in the sheets together, pulling hair and slapping and spitting vicious insults.

You loved it.

Morrison separated your frantic kissing to forcefully place his hands on your shoulders to push you down to your knees in front of him. The supply closet was small, especially considering his large and powerful stance, exaggerated by that stupid fucking coat. You found yourself mere inches from his crotch as he unbuckled his belt and pulled out his length to rub against your cheek. One hand caressed your cheek, and his thumb traveled to your lips to slip inside your mouth, so he could hold your jaw and force it open. He barely gave you the time to lick your lips before entering your mouth, stifling any complaint you could have come up with. You melted into the motions, knowing that even though he was a Grade-A asshole, he would be returning the favor for you later.

He always did. It’s why the arrangement you had was so satisfying. It wasn’t a one-sided affair; it was mutually beneficial for both of you, and that always had you coming back for more. Even if you were always gone by the morning.

You could tell Morrison was getting close by his pace speeding up and becoming more careless. The hand that wasn’t holding your cheek tangled in your hair and pulled, causing you to moan in response against his cock as he thrust in and out of your mouth. As he neared his peak, he pulled your hair harder to feel the delicious friction he got when he felt your moans and other little noises.

He always liked when you looked up at him while you were sucking his dick. You knew he was about to blow, so you met his eyes with yours and fluttered your eyelids with his final pull of your hair before he pushed into your mouth and throat particularly hard, coming dangerously close to triggering your gag reflex as he spilled into you and groaned above you. Your name was nowhere to be found in any of his words.

He unhanded you and pulled out, tucking himself back into his slacks and re-fastening his belt. He left you sitting back on the floor, disheveled with messy hair and mascara beginning to run.

Was he fucking kidding?

He cracked open the door to the closet, suspiciously peering in each direction and checking if the coast was clear. He turned to you one last time before his escape.

“Meet me in the hangar in fifteen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, y'all get down to business.

“I hope there’s a good fucking excuse for you leaving me there like that, asshole.” You met Morrison in the hangar to catch an executive car to the hotel you frequented on nights like this. On one hand, it added to the mystique, but on the other, it was far too risky to attempt traipsing to each other’s quarters on base as often as you would otherwise.

People would talk, and it would ruin everything.

You found your omnic driver and slipped into the backseat together without incident. You were convinced you looked suspicious, but you were under the guise of a meeting with a politician who flew out from another time zone, and that you were only there in Gabriel’s place.

Not even five minutes into the ride, Morrison started getting handsy. He would slowly lean closer to you, invading your personal space as he always did so well. Then came the wandering hands. He began at your knee, drawing small circles with his thumb. He gazed out the window resting his head on his other hand, pretending to be bored.

His hand kept creeping up farther at such a painfully slow pace you had to restrain yourself from grabbing his hand and pressing it against you yourself. You huffed and tilted your head back while you spread your legs more, trying to signal to him to just get on with it already. He let out a small chuckle. It seemed to have worked, though, because his hand trailed higher up your thigh.

The anticipation was killing you.

You decided Morrison wasn’t being quick enough, so you took matters into your own hands. Your own hand wandered quickly up your other thigh, brushing up the skirt of the dress you were still wearing from the meeting earlier. You sighed silently when you finally made contact with the wetness from earlier that dampened your panties, and you bit your lip to keep yourself quiet so you didn’t tip off the driver.

You quickly got to work on yourself as Morrison leaned back and watched. You spread your legs wider and gripped your thigh as you sped your fingers up and applied more of the pressure that you’d been craving desperately ever since he pushed you in the supply closet earlier.

As you approached your climax, step by step, your soft pants started increasing and your skin became flushed. Morrison couldn’t get enough of how you looked, pleasuring yourself next to him in the back seat of the car. When you thought you couldn’t hold on anymore and were ready to release, his hand laid on top of yours forcefully to top your motions. You glared at him, angry he kept you from any satisfaction two times in a row.

He leaned forward toward the driver’s seat. “Excuse me, but we have some classified materials we need to discuss for the next few minutes until we arrive at the location. It would be much appreciated if you would raise the partition, thank you.”

You raised an eyebrow at Morrison when he looked back at you. Suddenly, his reach caged you in to the leather of the seat by leaning over you. His other hand wasted no time in traveling to your soaking core this time. You sighed at a higher volume this time, given more freedom from the soundproof partition. You had to be careful, even though the partition was soundproof, it only was to an extent, and you tended to get surprisingly loud when you got with the Strike Commander.

He nipped at your earlobe before speaking. “Sweetheart, don’t make me keep you quiet.”

“Watch me, Morrison.” You smirked at him.

The hand he used to brace himself on the headrest came to rest on your mouth to cover the sounds you were going to inevitably make.

“Darling, we only have a few more minutes until we arrive. Do you think you can be a good girl and hold it together until we get there?”

Your eyes were wide as you nodded.

He was moving painfully slow yet again, teasing you as he slipped one finger inside of you, only to slide it back out and circle your clit before barely entering you. You tried to convey to him through your eyes that you could and would kill him if he kept fucking around.

With that, he changed course and slipped two fingers in you without warning, and you arched your back and attempted a gasp in reaction. He wasted no time then, pumping his fingers in and out of you, using his thumb to brush against and rub circles on your clit to overwhelm you.

He could feel you become tighter with every passing movement and second.

And when you were on the precipice of your climax again, he removed his fingers and held his hand down on your mouth forcefully so you wouldn’t protest too loudly and rouse suspicion of what was going on in the back seat of a company car during a supposed mission. Morrison brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue slipping out to lick your slick off of them. He made a show of it, purposefully trying to torture you even more. He sat back, waiting for the driver to announce you had arrived at your destination.

You briefly contemplated killing him if he was going to keep doing this to you.

When you arrived at the hotel, he disembarked first, so he could check in first and you could join him later. You agreed to grab a quick drink in the bar while you waited for him, spacing out your arrival.

After your drink, you approached the concierge to check in yourself and grab a room key. Until they told you the guest in the room specifically requested only one room key, and that you were unable to acquire one yourself.

You considered killing Morrison even less briefly that time.

You thanked the concierge politely, and then started stomping toward the elevator once you were out of sight of the lobby. What a jackass. Of course he would do this to you. You eventually made it to the room, and you were fuming by the time you knocked on the door. He pulled the door open after your first knock.

Before you could register, he pulled you into the room, giving you flashbacks to the supply closet earlier. You were in the familiar position of your back against the wall with Morrison devouring you in rough kisses, which you answered with equal ferocity. Clothes, both yours and his, were on the floor in what seemed like a matter of seconds.

“Does Reyes know what you get up to here?” he inquired when you broke the kiss for air. You wished he wouldn’t bring up your work partner when you were about to get fucked.

“Not at all, sir. It’s our little secret. Unless you’ve been loose-lipped about it.”

“Keep it to myself every time I find you, sweetheart. I swear.” He even made the motions of a cross to emphasize it. Even as a world leader, he was still a classic Midwestern boy deep down.

He released you from the wall, guiding you to the bed with his hand braced on your forearm. It was oddly gentle of him. “All fours, darling. I want to treat you after you’ve been so good for me all night.” You couldn’t argue with that. You’d take gentle if it meant he would _finally_ get you off after keeping you on the edge multiple times.

You perched on the bed on your elbows and knees, ass up in the air. Morrison appeared behind you and his hands were immediately all over your exposed skin. He placed both hands on your waist and slid them down your body to the curve of your ass, making you shiver. From years of military training, he had strong hands. He knew how to use them _really_ well, and you could never get enough of it.

He was taking too long for your likes.

"So, are you ever going to get to it, or-"

He cut you off with a sharp slap to the ass, pushing down on your shoulders to press you down into the bedding. You tried to shove yourself back up to fight back with sass, but Morrison had other plans. He grasped your wrists and held them behind your back, pinning your forearms together so he had every ounce of control available in the situation. You always loved when he was dominant. Sure, he usually annoyed the absolute hell out of you, but very few people measured up to what he could do in bed and how good he could make you feel.

You groaned when you felt the familiar friction of a soft rope snaking around your wrists and being pulled tight. There was something intoxicating that washed over you every time.

The time he took to explore you with his fingers blurred in your mind, you couldn’t focus from finally being rewarded with his touch again. You were brought back down to earth when you felt the tip of his cock brush up against your sopping entrance. You nearly anticipated that he was going to tease you even further.

You lurched forward and gasped into the pillows as he entered you in one quick, deep thrust. His pace didn’t slow by a beat once he started.

Soft whines escaped your throat, barely audible to Morrison from your position. You tried to raise your head to let him know you were getting close, but he wasn’t having any of it and grasped your hair to push you back down. The loud moan that earned from you was embarrassing.

Morrison chuckled at you. “To think, I almost forgot how you like to be treated.” He sped up his punishing pace, tangling his fingers tighter in your hair. “You just love being treated like I don’t fucking care about you.” You could do nothing but groan loudly in response. Your mind was too far gone through the haze of the pleasure.

His degrading comments, as much as you loved them, started to fade into the background noise. The only thing you could focus on was nearing your end, and you were fucking determined to reach it this time. You tried your hardest to push back up against him, encouraging him to go even deeper. The room, your bodies were getting hotter, and hotter, and you felt yourself getting tighter, and tighter, and…

He ripped his body from yours, along with your will to deal with this. You were furious. Before you could speak up, you felt the room spin, and found yourself on your back with Morrison’s face directly in yours, as if personal space didn’t still exist.

“Morrison, I swear to fucking God-,”

“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll get you there. Just be a good girl and wait for me.” He slid his length back inside of you, causing your back to arch from the bliss of being full again. You knew your arms were going to cramp from still being tied behind your back, but you didn’t give a single fuck if keeping your mouth shut about it meant you could finally cum for the first time in five tries.

“Please, I am begging you, just shut up and _fuck_ me, Morrison.” You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore him so you could focus on your high.

“You know, by now, you would think I’ve fucked the brat out of you.”

Since you didn’t have a hand available to slap his stupid face with, you sucked up a small amount of spit and aimed at his face. Your aim wasn’t perfect, but he got the point. The look in his eyes after you did this was dangerous, and the raised eyebrow made you wonder how big of a mistake you just made. Without words, he brought a single finger up to the glob, swiped it up, and brought it to his mouth, making a show of sucking his finger for you.

To distract you from mouthing off further, his lips and teeth found your neck and he immediately brought his teeth down hard against the soft skin, dragging slowly against it and following the sharp pain with a gentle kiss from his lips and lave from his tongue. The mixture of the pain and his sweet gestures almost distracted you, but you became alarmed at the fact he was leaving these marks in _very_ visible places, which was something that was against your agreement, and he made it very clear early on that he knew that.

“Morrison, you _know_ you aren’t supposed to be leaving those where people can see them! You motherfu-"

“What if I want people to know you’re mine, sweetheart?” His hand traced your jawline. “I want them to see I know every inch of your body, and that you belong to me.” The possessiveness in his voice could have made you melt quicker than a vat of acid.

You laughed. “You think I really belong to you, sir? Show me,” you looked up at him with daring eyes, making long contact, “how you can make me yours. I dare you.”

He seemed to take you up on the challenge immediately, speeding his thrusts up. You were tightening against him already; he knew you were close as well as you did. You two had come together so many times before, too many times to not know how to read each other like this. He brought up one hand to your neck, resting it and then pressing lightly, still checking for your signal. As much as you two fought and argued, he would never dream of accidentally hurting you or doing something you were truly uncomfortable with. The marks on your neck were a misstep, but you’d done the same to him before which led to an agreement that as long as whoever was doing it quit when called out, things were good. When you blinked at him slowly and gave a subtle nod, he shifted his weight on to his knees so he could bring his other hand up to your neck, encircling almost perfectly with the other.

He added pressure, little by little, making sure he upheld the pace of his thrusts, until your eyelids started to flutter in pleasure and you gasped softly. As you started tightening more, he added even more pressure, leaning his forehead down to yours and resuming his brutal pace from moments ago. Your makeup started to run along your skin, making Morrison grin to himself. You were not distressed, and this was always a sign you were getting even closer, overwhelmed from the overstimulation of being edged, as well as the hands on your throat. He knew that when this happened you were as happy as you could ever fucking be, and it made him prouder than he thought he would be for making a girl cry.

You started babbling about how painfully close you were. He pressed his forehead closer to yours, and demanded you open your eyes to look at him. The tears glistening in them mixed with the bliss you were experiencing was moving, and it made his heart skip a beat. Giving in to his emotions, he made a final request of you before nearing the final stretch.

“Call me Jack, sweetheart.” Though he knew you would be mad at him, he took one of his hands off your neck and used his thumb to tenderly brush away a small tear that was threatening to fall down your cheek.

This drove you to your climax, a real, actual climax and you fell apart with Morrison- no, Jack, all around you, making up the very air you breathed.

That was the first time you had ever used his first name.

And it sounded like a magical song on your lips.

* * *

You woke up tangled in a mess of fluffy white covers, with a strong arm draped around your waist. You turned over quietly, and noticed Jack, snuggled up against you and snoring softly. You dropped your annoyance for him briefly and noticed how cute he was like this, framed by the dim sun that was just starting to rise.

As much as you wanted to stay in the soft, warm bed next to someone embracing you with that level of care, you reluctantly rose and started to get dressed. You took extra care to be silent so as to not wake Jack up. He was a busy man who endured a lot of stress – you could already see the lines on his face – he deserved as much stress-free rest as he could get.

You spent most of the taxi ride back to base in a sleepy haze, recalling the previous night’s events fondly. You remembered the moment Jack asked you to call him his first name. The emotion in his eyes. The emotion _you_ felt, that months ago you swore you would never feel for this man.

You… felt emotion for this man.

You really wished you were back in that bed at that moment.

“Hi, sir?” You leaned into the front row to get the attention of your driver, “I just realized I forgot some of my belongings. Would you be able to turn around?”


End file.
